


Discord Flash-Fics

by Quinny_555



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bad Parent Martin Whitly, Bombing, Character Study, Dancing, Drowning, Flash Fic, Gil Arroyo Whump, Good Parent Gil Arroyo, Guilty Malcolm Bright, Heroic Malcolm Bright, Hostage Situations, In Case Y'all Haven't Noticed I Love Writing Creepy Bad Guys, JT Tarmel is So Done, Kidnapping, Like, Malcolm Bright Whump, Malcolm Knows Full Well That He's a Dumbass, Malcolm is Like a Crow When It Comes to Shiny Things, Martin Hates Gil, Martin Whitly Being an Asshole, Mugging, Poor Ainsley, Racing, Really Hates Him, Sad Malcolm Hours :(, Sparring, Stalking, Tickling, Torture, Whump, Young Malcolm Bright, bowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:22:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23484517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinny_555/pseuds/Quinny_555
Summary: A collection of my flash fics written in the Prodigal Son discord server.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58
Collections: Flash Fics - PSON Whump Discord





	1. Chapter 1

QUIVER 

“MALCOLM!” Martin shouted from somewhere in the house. 

Malcolm’s lip quivered and unshed tears threatened to spill over as he flinched. He could hear his father getting closer and tried to suppress the sobs that threatened to expose him. 

“Malcolm,” he said in a sickly sweet voice that didn't cover the rage hiding beneath. “If you come out now, you won't be in trouble.” 

The ten-year-old wanted to trust his dad, but… he had never seen him so angry before. His cheek ached and he worried that would be the least of his problems if his father found him. He heard a crash followed by more shouting. Malcolm couldn't help but think that if he hadn't tried to make that phone call, this wouldn't have happened. He wouldn't be in trouble. But that girl… the memory felt cloudy and far away, but it was there. And there was the stuff that smelled sweet in the same way that his father's voice sounded when he lied. 

“I don't know why you're hiding!” he shouted, dangerously close. “It’s childish and immature and I thought you knew better!” 

The sound of his booted feet echoed in the hallway and Malcolm tensed as he drew closer. He got closer, closer, closer, until… he passed the closet. Malcolm shook with relief. Suddenly the door swung open, light temporarily blinding him after so long in the dark. 

“Malcolm,” his father snarled, face twisted with a rage Malcolm never thought he would see from his hero. He flinched as his father grabbed his arm with bruising force and pulled him into the empty hallway. 

“Dad, I'm sorr-” he started and Martin slapped him. 

“I don't want to hear your excuses,” he thundered and Malcolm could only nod his head in fear. 

“Whe-where are we going?” he whispered as his father continued to drag him down the hall. Martin paused to look at his son. 

“We’re going on a camping trip.” 

~~~ 

LOOPY 

Malcolm blinked slowly and giggled, though he couldn't find out what was funny. Dinitrogen Monoxide, that was the name of the drug, but JT called it laughing gas. He could see why it would be called that. He couldn't feel a thing, well, nothing but giddiness. But physically, he wondered why he couldn't feel his body. 

“Oh, you're going to be a fun one, I can tell,” the man standing above him said cheerily. He looked like a dentist, this felt like a dentist chair, but he didn't remember making an appointment. In fact, he didn't remember how he got here at all. His thoughts were so jumbled, but he couldn't care less about that. “Feel loopy yet?” 

“Yeah,” he said, chuckling. You know, not being able to feel anything felt GREAT. 

“Is it now?” the man said, fiddling with something Malcolm couldn't see. Malcolm hadn't realized that he said that out loud, but nodded in agreement regardless. His nose itched, but he couldn't scratch it. Why? Oh, his hand was strapped to the chair. Why was his hand strapped to the chair? 

“Because you couldn't keep them to yourself,” the dentist said. He couldn't believe he had said that out loud too. Maybe the guy was a mind reader. He picked up whatever he had been fiddling with, and Malcolm was only mildly concerned to see that it was a drill. 

“What-” 

“Open wide!” The man grabbed at his face, but Malcolm shook his head. There was a gunshot, and then blood hitting his face. He giggled upon hearing Gil’s voice. 

“Are you okay, kid?” he asked. Malcolm grinned up at his concerned face. 

“I am fantastic.” 

~~~

CRASH

“Are you sure about this?” Malcolm said nervously. Gil gave an encouraging nod. 

“Of course, you'll do great,” he said. “Now, just put it in reverse.” Malcolm did, looking to Gil for approval. 

“Like that?” he asked. Gil smiled. 

“Yes, now press the accelerator,” he directed the sixteen-year-old. Malcolm pushed his foot down harder than he meant to. Gil went flying forward despite his seat belt, head smacking on the dash. There was a loud crash and he looked up. They had crashed into the neighbor's mailbox.

“Oh,” Malcolm said, stunned. 

“Yeah,” Gil Muttered. “Oh.” 

~~~ 

THAT’S GOING TO BRUISE 

He and Malcolm circled each other, the soft mat on the floor silencing their steps. Malcolm grinned at the larger man, who scowled back. He supposed sparring was not everyone’s cup of tea. Even so, it wasn't Malcolm’s fault that sparring was required at Quantico, so why was his classmate looking at him like he just drowned his cat? He feigned to the left, but Mark didn't go for it. 

“So, uh,” Malcolm started, because the silence was getting awkward, but Mark swung at him. He danced out of reach and they resumed position. Malcolm swung and Mark caught his arm, twisting it harder than necessary. Malcolm winced and broke the hold, retreating. “We’re not looking to maim each other, remember?” 

“Shut it, Whitly,” Mark said. 

“It’s Bright,” Malcolm retorted. 

“Whatever you say, Whitly,” Mark snarked. Malcolm narrowed his eyes. He darted forward, catching Mark in the stomach and following it up with a punch to the face. The larger man fell, cursing. Malcolm backed out of reach and winced in mock sympathy. 

“That’s gonna bruise.” 

~~~ 

ZIPTIE 

“And then you bring them down against your abdomen, like this,” Malcolm demonstrated. Ainsley sighed heavily and gave a half-hearted effort. The zip tie didn't budge and Ainsley shrugged. She held her wrists out for Malcolm to cut the plastic binds off. 

“Guess I can't do it,” she said. 

“You could if you actually tried,” he retorted. She rolled her eyes. 

“This isn't how I want to spend my spring break, Mal,” she complained. 

“You need to learn how to protect yourself, Ains. This is important, especially if you want to move into your own apartment soon.” 

“If you want me to protect myself then teach me how to  _ fight,”  _ she said. He shook his head. 

“We’ll get to that, but how are you supposed to hit someone bigger than you if you can’t even break a piece of plastic on your own?” 

“I can break it,” she assured. He raised his eyebrows. 

“Can you? I'm not sure I believe it.” she glared. 

“I can.” 

“Prove it.” 

She huffed and brought her bound hands down onto her abdomen the way Malcolm had shown her. The zip tie broke and she smirked at her brother. 

“Told you I could do it.” 

“Yeah,” he said affectionately. “Yeah, you did.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts for this round:   
> DIP   
> HIP   
> RIP   
> YOU'RE ALL MINE   
> HOARSE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, the rhyming with the first three words was not intentional lol.

DIP 

“You know how to dance?” Ainsley asked skeptically. She loved Gil, but he didn't seem like the type of person to know how to ballroom dance. He grinned. 

“Don't sound so shocked,” he joked lightly. “I do have a few tricks up my sleeve, yet.” 

“Right,” she said, still not quite convinced. He grabbed her hand and pulled her out onto the dance floor. There was already plenty of father-daughter pairs dancing, but they still got a few strange looks. While it was not as bad for her as it was for Malcolm, people still knew that she was the Surgeon's daughter. 

“I thought you said this was supposed to be a partner event? You can't just leave me out here on my own and go on a trip into your head,” he joked, edges of his eyes crinkling joyfully. Gil twirled her and she laughed, almost falling over at the unexpected motion. He always knew how to get her out of her own head. The dance started and she was surprised that he was actually _good_. 

“Where did you learn to dance?” she demanded. 

“I took classes so that I wouldn't look like a fool at my wedding,” he said and she laughed. That was a very “Gil” thing to do. He dipped her suddenly and she gasped. She thought she was going to fall and gripped his shoulders. 

“Jesus!” she said, eyes wide. 

“I thought you said I was a good dancer!” he said as he pulled her back up. “A good dance partner doesn't drop their companion,” he chuckled. His laughter was contagious and soon they were both cracking up. Though they received some strange looks, she didn't mind it this time. 

~~~ 

HIP 

Malcolm wasn't sure where he was going. All he knew was that he needed to _go_. He was sure that his hip was out of its socket, which impeded his movement. He leaned against the tree next to him, panting. His whole lower half was numb, which was a good and bad thing. No pain meant that the damage was worse than he probably thought; on the other hand, pain was debilitating. 

“I know you're out here!” he heard in the distance. Logically, he could tell that they weren't too close. There was also no such thing as too far away from _them_. He whimpered as he continued to drag his all but useless body forward. 

He wasn't sure when he last ate, drank water, or slept, but if he didn't keep going it would be worse. It would be _so much worse_. 

~~~ 

RIP 

“First to the finish line wins,” Malcolm said. JT glanced at him, eyes narrowed. 

“The finish line being that trash can?” he asked, pointing at the trash can across the room. Malcolm grinned and nodded. It had all started out with a comment made in passing followed with the back and forth of _“I'm faster,” “No, I'm faster,”_. Danni wasn't sure just when they got here, but she was sure she knew who would win. 

“Alright,” Dani said. “On your mark, get set… go!” Both bolted to the sound of the other cops who had gathered cheering. Some had placed bets, others had more integrity than that. She had to admit, JT was quicker than she gave him credit for, but Bright was faster. He was in the lead, but suddenly he wasn't. 

The toe of his dress shoe caught on the carpet beneath him and he went tumbling, much to the dismay of the other officers. Almost everyone had bet on Bright. JT stood at the trashcan, grinning triumphantly. 

Dani collected her money, being a good sport and not rubbing it in other than a quick “RIP”. May their egos rest in peace. 

~~~ 

YOU'RE ALL MINE

They were not sure who the subject of the stalker’s obsession was at first. Pictures of the team all together would show up at the station or their houses in equal measure. Then the pictures got more specific. First, they stopped including Edrisa, then Dani, followed by JT, and ending with Gil. Of course, it was Malcolm. When was it not? 

“It’s fine,” Malcolm had told them. “I don't need an escort.” The pictures only turned more personal. They forced a personal escort on him. It didn't do any good. It didn't stop him from taking the object of his obsession. 

“Wh-where am I?” Malcolm slurred, glancing blearily around. It was dark. He couldn't move his arms. Could he move anything? He wasn't sure. 

“Shh, shhhh, it's okay,” he heard above him. He blinked. There were large hands on his arms. He felt too warm. Where was he, again? Why couldn't he focus? Drugs, probably. He hadn't been this high since college. 

“Why-” he was cut off as something was jammed into his neck. He was suddenly wide awake, too aware, every nerve was on _fire_. He screamed. There was a hand in his hair, tugging. His scalp was too sensitive, it hurt, and he sobbed. He was being shushed again. But it wasn't all right. 

“You've got beautiful eyes,” the man rumbled. Malcolm could feel the tears welling up, sniffled. “They express your pain so wonderfully.” He said it as though it was a compliment. Malcolm wasn't sure that it was. 

“P-please, it h-hurts,” he whimpered. The man nodded. 

“It’s supposed to,” he said gently. His fingers slid down the side of Malcolm's face, leaving trails of fire in their wake. 

“I don't want… I want to go home,” the last word came out as a sob. His ears were ringing, his whole body hurt. The man slapped him and he screamed in agony, arching off the table. The man grabbed his face and he whimpered. 

“Oh, it’s alright. You're all mine, now,” he whispered, placing a burning kiss on Malcolm's forehead. 

~~~ 

HOARSE 

Malcolm panted, eyes fluttering closed. 

“Open ‘em,” he heard from above him. He reluctantly complied, mostly because he liked his eyelids where they were. He stared at his captor’s face, wanting nothing more than to be anywhere other than here. 

“Wait-” he started, voice hoarse from screaming. 

“Can you give me what I want?” she asked, eyebrows raised. He reluctantly shook his head. “Then we’ll continue until you can.” 

“No, no, no, wait-” she pushed the red hot iron against his skin and he let out a scream, too worn out to hold it in. She hummed appreciatively. 

“You know Malcolm, you are a good screamer,” she said suggestively. He glared at her. “Just tell me where they hid your mother and we don't have to get in any more practice.” 

“Fuck you,” he managed between clenched teeth. She sighed, pushing her dark hair out of her face. 

“Oh, well,” she shrugged, pressing the hot iron to the space under his ribs. He screamed, voice cracking. She pulled it away after what felt like an eternity. The sob that escaped clenched teeth was completely involuntary. “You know, I don't want to hurt you,” she said. She paused, a wicked smile curling the edge of her lips. “At least, not under these circumstances.” 

“Yeah, I'm sure otherwise we would have a grand old time,” he hissed. She nodded. 

“Well, if you still don't want to talk, let’s move on. I’ve been dying to try out my new whip.” Malcolm swallowed and closed his eyes. 

“Do your worst,” he said, though he desperately didn't want her to. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts:   
> PIN   
> TINKER   
> QUENCH   
> JUST STAY PUT   
> ABANDONED   
> UNCONTROLLABLE

PIN

The floor was sticky under Malcolm’s $600 shoes and he grimaced slightly. 

“Don't make that face, this is gonna be fun,” Dani said, hitting him on the arm for good measure. Malcolm rubbed his arm absently while she went up to the front counter to pay and grab shoes. He was starting to regret letting her choose the activity for the night. 

“I'm not putting those on,” he said when Dani came back with a pair of horrendous 70’s themed bowling shoes. She frowned at him and he folded. “Fine, but I would like it to be noted that this is very unsanitary.” 

“Unsanitary? Bright, you literally step in blood and God knows what else every day,” Dani pointed out. 

“Crime scenes are sanitary!” he argued. She raised an eyebrow. “Ok, maybe not sanitary, but who knows what kind of people have worn these before me?” 

“I'm sure you’ll live, now throw the ball,” Dani said. Malcolm frowned. 

“Is there a… certain way you’re supposed to do this?” he asked, holding up his ball. Dani gaped. 

“Have you never been bowling before?” 

“Does this look like the type of place my mother would frequent?” Malcolm countered. She nodded. 

“Okay, so you hold it like this,” she showed him and he mimicked her. “Now just roll it toward the pins.” she threw the ball, knocking down most of the pins. He nodded. 

“Alright, I can do that,” he said, stepping up to the alley. Dani watched as he paused and threw it. The screen lit up with a tacky cartoon that said “Strike!” and Dani shook her head. 

“I hate you. How?” 

“No you don't, and it’s just math.” he shrugged, dorky smile on his face. It was contagious and she found herself smiling back. She still couldn't believe she was going to lose to someone who’s never even played this game before. 

~~~

TINKER 

Malcolm had been a strange child. He was always tinkering with something, always moving, always being told to _put that away_. In addition to being restless, he was also eager to please, so he always did as he was told. At least, he tried to. But still, tinkering became a habit for him. In fact, it followed him into adulthood. 

“What’s that?” JT asked upon seeing Malcolm messing with something. Malcolm glanced up at him. 

“Huh?” 

“What are you tinkering with?” he repeated his question. Bright glanced down at his hands, frowning slightly. 

“Um, I'm not sure,” he admitted. 

“Wh- how can you not know?” JT was slightly taken aback. 

“I found it on the floor. I think it’s some kind of bolt, or screw,” he contemplated as he held it up to the light. 

“Why did you pick it up?” JT couldn't help but ask. He never wanted to touch anything that he found on the floor, and Bright was fussier than him by far. 

“It was shiny and I was bored,” Bright said after thinking about it for a moment. Yeah, that pretty much summed up the kid’s personality. 

~~~ 

QUENCH 

He knelt in front of Malcolm, but the smaller man could barely even lift his head to look at his captor. He hadn't been given food or water ever since he was taken and he knew he was close to breaking. 

“How are you feeling?” the man asked, tilting his head. Malcolm glanced at him, but didn't answer. He could guess for himself. “Silent treatment, hmm? Well, I'm sure you’ll be pretty chatty soon enough." 

“Why?” he managed through cracked lips. 

“I've decided to be merciful and give you water,” he said and Malcolm probably would have cried if he wasn't so dehydrated. “But only if you say please.” 

“Please,” Malcolm immediately whispered, voice cracking. The man grinned. 

“Great,” he said, grabbing Malcolm by the hair and dragging him out of the room. Malcolm could barely keep up, let alone resist. They arrived in the bathroom and Malcolm frowned. 

“Wha-” he started, but cut off when he was suddenly shoved over the edge of the bathtub. He landed in the water, sputtering. He got in a gulp of water before his head was pulled back out of the water. 

“Why do you look so sad?” he asked. “I thought you wanted water?” Malcolm opened his mouth to answer when he was pushed back under the water. He choked, unable to fight off the man above him. When he was finally pulled back up he coughed, shaking his head feebly. The man grabbed Malcolm’s face, forcing him to look at him. 

“We’re going to have so much fun together,” he grinned, looking positively unhinged. “And baby, we’re just getting started.” 

~~~ 

JUST STAY PUT 

Malcolm’s head flew back from the force of the blow, and he could feel his nose bleeding. He tugged against the rope binding him to the chair. 

“Oh, that’s a nice look,” his captor said, winking. Malcolm hissed out a breath, glaring at the gang leader. 

“Listen, we can talk-” he started but was cut off by his captor backhanding him. 

“No.” He frowned. “We can't. Because there is nothing that you can say that I will be interested in.” He turned and grabbed a knife off of the table behind him. Malcolm tensed, shaking his head. 

“Wait-” 

“I want to hear you scream loud enough for Gil to hear from here,” he growled as he approached. Malcolm began struggling. The man cut his shirt away, pushing it to the side in an almost reverent manner. “Don't worry; I won't make it too difficult for you.” And then he was dragging the knife down Malcolm’s chest. He hissed. 

“Not quite what I was going for,” he said, tilting his head. He made a similar line on the other side of Malcolm’s chest and Malcolm grunted. “We’re going to have to decorate you a bit more if we want Lt. Arroyo to fold, so…” he shrugged, continuing to drag the blade across Malcolm’s skin. Malcolm was panting, gritting his teeth to keep quiet by the time the other man pulled back. 

“You're not as loud as I thought you would be,” he said with a chuckle. “But it doesn't really matter.” something seemed to catch his eye and he squinted. “Well, that looks like it was painful.” he gestured at Malcolm’s scar with his knife. 

“And?” Malcolm ground out. The man shrugged and thrust the blade into the damaged skin. Malcolm couldn't hold it in; he screamed. He could feel the tears on his face and the memories were flooding his head. He whimpered and glared up at the gang leader. 

“So, that’s the ticket,” he said curiously. His phone rang and he answered it. “Yes?” A pause. He stood and walked toward the door before turning back to Malcolm with a grin. “Just, uh, stay put. I'm not done with you.” 

~~~ 

ABANDONED 

Martin had been absolutely blindsided when Malcolm cut him out of his life. He had never felt so abandoned. Not when every person he knew turned their backs on him, not when the media crucified him, not even when Jessie left him in that prison to _rot_. Oh, that of all hurt, but this betrayal left him feeling empty. That place where his heart had been slowly filled up over the years with a burning hate that he only encouraged. A hate for the man who had taken everything from him. 

Gil Arroyo. That bastard had taken his son, filled his head with all these crazy ideas of saving people through the law, of being a hero. He arrested him, taking his family away once, only to add insult to injury. He was always pretending that Malcolm was his own son. Just the thought made Martin scoff. 

Martin knew that he would escape one day. Oh, he _knew_. They wouldn't be able to stop him. And once he was free of this place he would do everything he had promised himself he would do. He would take Malcolm back, and then he would take his revenge. It would be so sweet. He would make Arroyo pay, he would make him scream, he would _make him beg_. 

He smiled pleasantly and looked up as his son entered the room, snapping him out of his daydreams. He could be content with this for now. 

“My boy, have a seat.” 

For now… 

~~~

UNCONTROLLABLE 

Malcolm was like a force of nature. Absolutely uncontrollable. 

Trying to tell Malcolm what to do was like trying to catch a hurricane with a butterfly net; useless and a complete waste of time. He was going to do what he pleased whether you wanted him to or not. It was better to hunker down and wait out the storm. 

“Just try to be normal,” his childhood bullies told him. He couldn't. 

“Shhh, just forget what you saw,” Martin told him. He didn't.

“Shoot to kill,” his superiors at the FBI told him. He wouldn't. 

“Drink the camomile,” his mother told him. He refused. 

“Stay here,” Gil told him. He followed. 

“Stop pushing before you break yourself,” his therapist told him. He hadn't. 

Malcolm wished he could be normal, he wished he had forgotten, he wished he could shoot to kill, he wished he would sleep, he wished he would listen to Gil, he wished he would just _stop fucking pushing._

But Malcolm Bright was uncontrollable. His bullies couldn't control him, Dr. Whitly couldn't control him, the FBI couldn't control him, his mother couldn't control him, Gil couldn't control him, his shrink couldn't control him, but there was something most people didn't realize; they didn't realize that most importantly, he couldn't control _himself_. As he watched his hand shake, listened to himself ramble, felt the injuries that came with running after killers, and shook himself awake screaming, no one wished he could control himself more than he did. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts:  
> YOU’VE GOT TO STAY AWAKE   
> QUIZZICAL  
> ZEALOT  
> KABOOM  
> BACKFIRE

YOU’VE GOT TO STAY AWAKE 

Gil felt his eyelids becoming progressively heavier and distantly though that he should try to fight it. He figured that it was probably the blood loss and head injury. He also figured that it was a losing fight. 

“Dr. Whitly, please, stop, stop, _stop_ ,” he could hear Malcolm sob. He wanted to fight for the kid, but… 

“My boy, you need to calm down-” 

“You're going to kill him!” Malcolm shouted desperately. There was a long pause. Gil heard the footsteps moving away from him.

“That’s kind of the point, son,” Martin said gently. 

“No, Dr- I-I mean Martin, please don't do this,” he whispered. Martin sighed. 

“I have to,” he said solemnly, sounding as though he hadn't been gleefully grinning while beating Gil senseless less than five minutes ago. Malcolm sobbed again as Martin ran his fingers through his hair. 

“Dr. Whi… _Dad_ , please,” Malcolm closed his eyes. “Please.” Martin let out a heavy sigh. He whispered something else to Malcolm, which made him shake his head, and then those heavy footsteps were out the door. The door closed behind him and Malcolm immediately started yanking on the chain around his ankle. 

“G-Gil,” he heard Malcolm sob. He wanted to tell the kid that everything was gonna be okay, but he felt so heavy… “Please, just stay awake. For me Gil,” he begged. 

Gil wanted to. He wanted to so badly. He would do anything for that kid. But… 

“Can't,” he slurred. “Love you, Mal.” And then everything went dark. 

~~~ 

QUIZZICAL 

“They’ll find you,” Malcolm choked out between shallow breaths. He pressed his face against the cold concrete as he heard the man approaching. 

“Who do you think is gonna find us, little bird?” he heard from above him. He looked up at his captor, who was smiling down at him quizzically. 

“My team,” he hissed. “Even if you kill me-” 

“Kill you?” the man asked, shaking his head. “Why would I want to kill you? You're perfect.” Malcolm swallowed, closed his eyes. 

“I'm just your current fixation,” he managed, trying to focus on his profile rather than his aching body. “Soon you’ll kill me; either it’ll be intentional because you got bored, or it will be an accident. Either way, this won’t end with me. You’ll find something else to fixate on.” A hacking cough racked his thin frame and he stared disconcertedly at the blood he coughed onto the floor. 

“You're wrong, little bird,” the man said, crouching next to him. He grabbed his hair, tugging on the strands to make him look up. “You're perfect, and I'm never letting you go.” 

Malcolm made eye contact with him. 

“I don't believe you.” For this, he received another quizzical look. 

“You will.” 

~~~ 

ZEALOT 

John Watkins had been called many things in his life: fanatical, cold, an idiot, too curious for his own good, bad, delusional, all of those things. What really got to him, though, was being called a zealot. It was the insinuation that being devoted to your God is a bad thing. He knew that his utter devotion to God was the only good thing about him. 

So no, the man who called him a zealot on the street may not have been one of those filthy junkies, but John knew that he had to exterminate him. Sure, it wasn't explicitly stated, but didn't all prophets, all men of God, have to take liberties sometimes? 

The man begged _”Please, I'm sorry,”_ , but John knew he wasn't. 

“This is happening to you because you don't love your God enough,” John had explained to him simply. The man had only begged more. He begged as John put him in the car, begged as he locked the door, begged as he walked away, begged as he turned on the compactor, beg, beg, beg. All sinners begged. It was because they knew they were guilty in the eyes of God. 

Martin’s boy was lucky that he never called John a zealot. Sure, it was implied in his profile, but never explicitly stated. Because while he hurt Malcolm, he was only testing him. He would have known there was no hope for the boy if he had called him a zealot. If there was no hope, well, who was he to argue? But there was. 

“I'll make a servant of God out of you, yet,” he said to Malcolm’s bloody, unconscious body lying at his feet. There was nothing wrong with being a servant of God. It was unforgivable to insinuate that there was.

~~~ 

KABOOM 

Martin tilted his head as he watched his son try to talk down the madman in his cell. 

“Oh kid, I'm gonna make it all go _kaboom_ ,” he said, eyes wide and shining with adrenaline. Malcolm nodded. 

“You're in control,” he said, nodding again. “And I can't stop you-” 

“That’s right!” the man yelled. “You can't, no one can!” 

“Yes, that’s true,” Malcolm said, edging closer very slowly. “But ask yourself; is this really wise?” 

“W-what do you mean?” he asked, looking around. Paranoid, then. Interesting. His finger tightened on the cell phone that would activate the bomb. 

“If you press that button, you're going to be taking yourself out with us,” Malcolm said quickly. 

“B-but,” he said, looking down at the cell phone. 

“Tucker, listen to me,” Malcolm hissed. “You're not suicidal. I know that you're not. So give me the cellphone and we can all walk out of here alive.” He reached his hand out, palm up. Tucker looked at his hand, looked at the cellphone, and came to his decision. 

“Kaboom!” he shouted. Malcolm dove for him, tackling him and sending them rolling with the momentum. 

“Good form, my boy,” Martin said encouragingly as Malcolm and Tucker wrestled for the phone. Tucker was bigger than Malcolm, but he was also sloppier. Malcolm managed to get a hit in, stunning the larger man. It gave Malcolm enough time to recover and grab the phone, scrambling away. Tucker followed his retreat, slamming him against the wall. Malcolm threw the phone as Tucker wrapped his hands around Malcolm’s neck. 

Martin tilted his head, curious as to what his son would do. He looked pretty stuck… Well, Martin had to give him points for creativity, he hadn't expected the headbutt. They continued to fight for a moment before Martin decided to clear his throat. 

“Is this what you want?” he asked blandly, holding up the cellphone. Tucker turned, eyes widening, and Malcolm sucker-punched him. The larger man collapsed top the ground with a thud. 

“You couldn't have done that earlier?” Malcolm wheezed. Martin shrugged. 

“I wanted to see what you would do.” 

“Of course you did,” Malcolm muttered, leaning against the wall. Dr. Whitly was the _worst_.

~~~ 

BACKFIRE

“I'll go after him!” Malcolm yelled. 

“Bright, no, wait-” he was already sprinting away despite what she said. He watched the suspect run into the alley and followed without hesitation. He may not have very long legs, but he was fast. He was quickly gaining ground. 

“Stop, police!” he shouted. The man didn't slow and neither did Malcolm. He turned another corner, but when Malcolm turned he didn't see him. He frowned, looking around. He didn't see or hear him. He crept further into the alley, breaths condensing in front of his face. 

The gunshot caught him off guard. He hit the ground, crying out at the searing pain in his shoulder. He gripped the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. He heard footsteps approaching. A boot to the ribs effectively flipped him over and he grunted. 

“That’s gotta hurt,” the man above him, Kayden, said. He smiled, raising the gun, and Malcolm tried to scoot away. Kayden paused, contemplating. He put the gun in his waistband and grabbed Malcolm’s ankles, pulling him closer. Malcolm tried to fight him, but the pain was debilitating. Kayden straddled him and Malcolm glared. 

“You know, guns are efficient, but not nearly as fun as getting up close and personal,” he said. 

“Kayden-” Malcolm started, but Kayden put a hand over his mouth. Malcolm wasn't too worried until he put his other over his nose. His eyes widened and he bucked. Kayden didn't budge, and Malcolm panicked. He was going to die because he was stupid, and his plans always backfired, and- 

There was another gunshot and Malcolm pulled in a frantic breath. Kayden fell to the ground next to him. 

“Damnit, Bright,” Dani said. “I told you to wait.” 

“I had a plan,” Malcolm gasped. 

“Yeah,” Dani muttered, “That worked out great.” 

“It could have,” he said defensively.”It just… backfired.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts:   
> QUAINT  
> MISLEAD  
> HOWL  
> YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO SPEAK UP  
> XOXO  
> IT’S NOT MY BLOOD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated the tags, but in case you didn't see, this chapter includes non-graphic attempted rape/noncon. If that is a trigger for you skip the prompt 'IT'S NOT MY BLOOD'.

QUAINT 

Martin's cell was quaint. That was the first thing that popped into Malcolm's head when he saw it for the first time in twenty years. It was a far cry from the cell inside of a room that had been there during his college years. While Malcolm had always thought that his father deserved worse than he got, this was getting ridiculous. 

“Malcolm,” his father had greeted him with a smile. It felt too much like his childhood. Too similar to the cozy little workspace in the basement, the one filled to the brim with medical journals that his mother didn't want to invade the rest of the house. _“The books are an eyesore, Martin,”_ she had told him. He, being the cordial partner that he was, agreed to keep all of it in his workroom. This resulted in the small room having too many books, but it somehow never felt crowded. It felt cozy. Quaint. Too much like his current cell. 

“It’s been a while,” he’d said, but Malcolm couldn't help but think that it hadn't been long enough. It was too much like those nights his father let him stay up late, drinking cocoa and learning about the human body. His warm smile was as sweet as it had been over two decades ago. 

“Hello, Dr. Whitly,” Malcolm had responded. It felt wrong. He felt like he should be calling the man in front of him “Dad”. He felt guilty for not calling him dad. He would have felt even guiltier if he did. It was a tightrope, a precipice that he walked on. The line between remembering the father Martin Whilty had been and recognizing that he had done more harm than he could ever make up for. 

His father’s sins would always haunt him; it was inevitable. He would always know the names of every person Martin Whitly had killed. He just hoped that by denying his father and everything that he stood for, he wouldn't have to bear his sins. He could barely stand the weight of his own as it was.

~~~ 

MISLEAD 

Martin never lied. It was a talent of his, giving people the wrong idea in order to avoid telling direct lies. Many people called him a heartless monster. He couldn't deny that. They called him a horrible person. He couldn't deny that, either. They called him a murderer. He certainly couldn't deny that. But when they called him a liar? He could deny that. 

“You lied to me,” Jessica had sobbed while visiting him. 

“I never lied, Jessie. Did you ever ask?” he had countered. That was the crux of it; no asked the right questions. Jessica had merely assumed that he was having an affair. He never corrected her, because why would he? He knew that his polygraph came back clean because they already had enough evidence to put him away for life and then some. He didn't lie. 

When Malcolm asked him about the girl in the box, he told him “It’s just a dream.” It wasn't a lie; the night terrors he had about her were just dreams. He never said that she didn't exist. The devil was in the details, really. Malcolm had accused him of using chloroform; he said that he never did. It was true. He used his own drugs if he was forced into that situation. It may work the same, but it wasn't technically chloroform. 

Martin Whitly was many things, both good and bad. He knew what he was. He misdirected, he misled, he deceived, he tricked, but most importantly, he never lied. 

~~~ 

HOWL

Malcolm frowned, shaking his head. 

“I have work to do, man. I know you're content to fail, but I'm not,” he said, turning back to his books. 

“Don't be boring,” Vijay complained as he kicked the leg of Malcolm’s chair. “You've been studying for hours!” Malcolm looked at his watch and back up at his roommate. 

“It’s been twenty minutes,” he muttered sullenly. Vijay sighed heavily. Malcolm ignored him. He sighed again and Malcolm still ignored him. He decided that if Malcolm was determined to sulk, he would just have to force him out of this slump. 

“What are you doing?” Malcolm shrieked as Vijay picked him up bridal style. Vijay was bigger than him and easily lifted him. “Put me down!” 

“Not yet,” Vijay said with a laugh. “We’re going on an adventure.” Malcolm squirmed and Vijay tossed him onto his bed. He blinked up at Vijay’s grinning face. 

“Just across the room? Not much of an adventure,” he snarked. Vijay narrowed his eyes for a moment before he grinned suddenly. He edged toward Malcolm, who scooted away, casting suspicious looks at his roommate. 

Suddenly Vijay was on him, fingers digging into ribs mercilessly. Malcolm howled, trying to scramble away. Vijay pinned him, avoiding flailing limbs as he continued to tickle him. He found that Malcolm’s ribs were especially ticklish and attacked that area ruthlessly. 

“Uncle, uncle! Jesus Christ, Vijay, I surrender,” Malcolm panted between giggles, tears streaming down his face as he caught his breath. Vijay relented, also laughing. Malcolm shook his head. 

“You are so childish,” he said, though it wasn't really a complaint. 

“Yeah, but you had fun,” Vijay said. Malcolm smiled. Yeah, he did. 

~~~ 

YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO SPEAK UP 

JT glared at him and Bright’s captors. They wanted something from Gil, and they were going to any lengths necessary to get it. That included kidnapping his surrogate son. JT had just happened to be there and they didn't want to leave witnesses. JT was glad that they had taken him too, despite how much it really sucked. Otherwise, Malcolm would have been here alone. Not that JT was much help anyway. 

He jerked against the ropes as they hit Malcolm again. The younger man grunted but didn't say anything. This was the second beating he had taken in as many days, and he was doing surprisingly well. JT had expected… well, he wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but certainly not the stoicism that Bright was presenting. 

“What, nothing to say?” the one doing the beating asked. Malcolm still didn't respond and he punched him in the stomach. Malcolm wheezed, trying to get his breath back. JT would kill this guy given the chance. He backhanded Bright, rocking the chair he was tied to precariously. 

“That’s enough,” JT said, hoping that if nothing else, it would give Malcolm a short reprieve. The guy paused, looking at JT. 

“Do you think so?” he asked. JT knew it was a trick question, but nodded on the off chance that it would prevent the beating from continuing. The guy laughed. 

“Well, I don't. And it won't be until papa Gil decides to fold,” he said, turning back to Malcolm. He punched him and JT heard a loud crack. Malcolm hissed and said something quietly. 

“What was that?” the guy asked, leaning closer. “You're gonna have to speak up,” he taunted. Bright slowly looked up at him. The guy tilted his head. “Go on.” 

He stumbled back with a shout as Bright spit blood at his face. 

“I said,” he panted. “You hit like a little bitch.” 

JT stared. He literally could not believe that Bright was provoking this guy right now. 

“I'll show you who’s a little bitch,” their captor growled. Malcolm actually _laughed_. 

“Hit me with your best shot,” he said. JT had never doubted that Malcolm Bright was insane. He just didn't realize that he could also take a beating. 

~~~

XOXO 

She would write him little notes with the lunch she sent to work with him. Every day Gil got to smile as he read the little blurb she had written him that morning. They always ended with _xoxo_ , _Jackie_. Reading them was the best part of his day. After she died, Gil kept one of the notes with him at all times. Imagine his surprise when, three years later, the notes start showing up again. 

The first he found was stuck to his desk, next to his computer. He just blinked as he looked at the words on the page. It was obviously not written by Jackie, but it still ended with _xoxo_. He wondered who would do this, or who even knew about it? 

They continued to pop up in his office. He still wasn't exactly sure who was doing it. Sure, he had a main suspect, but he didn't _know_. Until one day, Malcolm walked in on him reading one of them. 

“She used to write the notes to me, too,” the kid said with a melancholic smile. “I'd find them around. I figured that she did the same for you, and…” he trailed off. He looked up at Gil, looking almost guilty. 

“You've been writing these?” Gil asked. Malcolm nodded, ducking his head. 

“I-I'll stop if you want me to,” he said. “I just thought it might be nice, I guess.” 

“No,” Gil said immediately. He could feel tears forming but quickly blinked them away. “No, I like them. Really, I do. Thank you, Malcolm.” Malcolm lit up. 

“Good,” he said quietly. “That’s good.” 

~~~ 

IT’S NOT MY BLOOD 

Malcolm wasn't sure what was happening. All he knew was that one minute he was at the bar, flirting. The guy had seemed nice enough and Malcolm had been tipsy. He didn't think that he had enough to drink to be this out of it. He was leaning against someone. They were tall and warm, but it was already too warm. He wanted to take a nap, but he had a feeling that would be a bad idea. He was walking, well sort of. It was more like he was being dragged. 

“Wha-” he slurred. They stopped dragging him for a moment. 

“Interesting,” the guy, the one from the bar, said. “I've never had someone stay awake this long.” 

“Awa- wake?” he managed. The guy, Oliver, laughed. 

“Yep,” he booped him on the nose. They were moving again and Malcolm was lost to his mind. Something was wrong. He resurfaced when he was thrown onto a bed. He felt someone straddle him and mumbled something incoherent. He was shushed. He felt hands on his belt and squirmed. Suddenly his belt was gone and he was flipped onto his back. There was weight on his back and he panicked. He bucked, adrenaline flooding his system, and whoever was on him tumbled off to the side. 

His eyes flew open and he saw a flash of silver in front of him. A switchblade on the nightstand in front of him. His mind was a blur, but whoever was on him (Oliver?) was getting up. He lunged for the open blade and turned. It met resistance and he stared down in horror at the blood that was quickly spilling out of the wound and onto his hands. Oliver yelled and pulled the knife out. 

_Bad idea_ Malcolm thought as he stood and ran. There was blood covering his shirt and his hands, but if he didn't leave he was sure it would be worse. He wasn't sure when he got outside, but suddenly he was leaning against an alley wall. He fumbled for his phone, literally sobbed in relief when he found it was still there. He hit speed dial.

“G-Gil,” he sobbed. 

_ “Malcolm?” _ Gil answered groggily. Malcolm sobbed again. 

“Th-there’s so much b-blood, it was an accident,” he rambled, words slurring. 

_“Kid? You're bleeding? Where are you?”_ Gil demanded. Malcolm slid slowly down the wall, eyelids fluttering. 

“Not mine,” he managed. “It’s not my blood.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts:   
> UNDERESTIMATE   
> RICTUS   
> DON'T LOOK DOWN

UNDERESTIMATE 

Malcolm was used to people underestimating him. They took one look at his small stature and fancy suits and assumed he was an easy target. He wasn't. 

“Wallet,” the man said, shoving him. “Now.” Malcolm had his hands up and the guy stepped closer. His breath reeked of alcohol. 

“Listen, I don't really want to-” he started and the guy shoved him again, harder this time. 

“I don't care if you don't want to,” he said. “Rich boys like you always seem to think that they can get what they want when they want.” 

“Well, you're right about that,” Malcolm said. “But that’s not what I was going to say.” 

“What?” the guy asked, clearly confused. Whether it was because of Malcolm’s words or his calm demeanor, he wasn't sure. 

“I was going to say that I don't want to hurt you.” he shrugged. “But I will.” 

“Listen here-” he started, walking toward Malcolm aggressively. Malcolm grabbed the arm holding the knife and wrenched it to the side, forcing him to drop the knife. He yelped as Malcolm pulled the hand behind his back. 

“Move and I break your hand,” Malcolm said. The guy continued to try and break his hold. Malcolm sighed and twisted his hand harder. There was a snap and the guy howled. Malcolm had only sprained it, but the guy didn't have to know that. “I warned you.” he let the guy go. 

“You're a psycho, man,” he growled as he turned and ran. Malcolm shrugged to himself. He _had_ warned him. 

~~~ 

RICTUS

“It always creeps me out when they're still smiling after death,” JT said, frowning. Every victim had been grinning when they found their bodies and JT was not a fan. Malcolm shook his head, frowning. 

“Their deaths must have been extremely painful,” Edrisa muttered. “Why would they be smiling after… that?”

“A death rictus,” Malcolm said. “It’s fascinating, really. Though how he got them to continue to smile is a mystery to me as well.” 

“I hate how excited you sound about that,” JT said. Bright shrugged. 

“Every new case is an opportunity to learn about the mind of a killer.” 

“Of course you would think about it like that,” JT said. He looked back at the smiling victim and shuddered. 

“Well, at least they don't look like they were in pain,” Edrisa offered. JT shook his head.

“The- what did you call it? The death rictus? Yeah, it’s still creepy.” 

~~~ 

DON’T LOOK DOWN 

Malcolm white-knuckle gripped the railing, wind blowing his hair out of his eyes. _Don't look down, don't look down_ he thought to himself. He squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Bright!” Dani shouted from the window next to the balcony he dangled from. His eyes shot open. “Jesus, what happened?” she yelled. 

“Does that matter?” Bright shouted back, voice cracking. She paused. 

“What room are you in?” she asked. 

“325!” he felt his grip slip slightly. “Hurry!” he looked up to see that she was already gone. He would pull himself up, but the angle at which his hands were gripping the railing prevented that. Suddenly Dani was above him and he could have sobbed in relief. 

“Okay, I'm gonna grab your arms.” 

“No, no, no, wait,” he said. “Grab my jacket lapels. I can use my hands to help you.” 

She pulled and he gripped the railing. The added help allowed him to swing himself the rest of the way up. He scrambled over the side of the railing, knocking Dani over in the process. 

“Oof, Bright,” she said from the ground as he panted, hands on knees. 

“Sorry,” he said, glancing over the edge of the railing. He blanched. “Shouldn't have looked down.” his eyes rolled back in his head and Dani caught him. 

“Damnit, Bright,” she muttered as she lowered his unconscious form to the ground. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts:   
> ABSOLUTION   
> HACKSAW  
> VOODOO   
> INCONSPICUOUS  
> FLOUNDER

ABSOLUTION 

“All I ever wanted!” the man in front of him screamed, waving the loaded gun in his hand around. Malcolm watched the movement nervously. “All that I wanted was absolution. Why is that so terrible?” 

“It’s not, Mike,” he choked out. “It’s perfectly normal. We all want to be forgiven.” 

“Normal,” he scoffed derisively, “I'm anything but normal.” He tugged on his hair, squeezing teary eyes shut. 

“You don't have to be, Mike,” Malcolm said, taking a step forward. “And you don't have to hurt people. We can get you help. You can be forgiven.” Malcolm reached a hand out. The younger man stared at it. His tormented gaze fixed on Malcolm’s earnest face. 

“They're telling me that you're wrong,” he said. “Th-the angels in my head. They say that you're a sinner.” 

“I'm not,” Malcolm said immediately. “You know that. You know that they lie to you, Mike. You don't have to let them control you.” 

“I didn't want to hurt those people,” he whispered, glancing around, clearly paranoid. Malcolm nodded. 

“I know. Just put your gun down and come with me. No one else has to get hurt.” Mike stared at him, he began to extend his hand toward Malcolm’s. Malcolm smiled, “It's okay, I won't hurt you.” Mike nodded trustingly. Suddenly he went rigid, tightening his grip on the gun as his expression shifted. 

“You lied to me!” he shouted, aiming the gun at the profiler. Malcolm wondered for a split second where he slipped up before a gunshot echoed through the warehouse. He flinched, squeezing his eyes shut. No pain came. He stared down at Mike's lifeless body as police flooded the warehouse. 

“You did good, kid,” Gil said to him. Malcolm shook his head. Not good enough. 

~~~ 

HACKSAW 

“I-I'm sure that we could talk about this,” Malcolm started with a nervous laugh. He could feel tacky blood matting his hair to his skull. The serial killer looked up at him, tilting his head. 

“What is there to talk about?” he asked, “I'm going to kill and cut you into pieces for your fellow agents to find.” Malcolm stuttered, trying to think of something to say to that. It was only his third official case with the FBI and he was panicking. He had seen what this guy did to his victims. He was a remorseless sadist who wanted his victims to feel everything. A similar profile to the Surgeon’s; this guy just preferred to get messy. 

“Yo-your dad,” Malcolm managed around the fear constricting his throat. The killer's head shot up and he glared at Malcolm. “He always made you use the hack saw, even when you got splinters or cut yourself. No gloves or anything, t-that had to hurt-” he was cut off as suddenly the man was right in front of him. He grabbed the profiler by the throat, choking him, and Malcolm struggled against his own cuffs biting into his wrists. 

“Don't talk about things you don't know about, _boy_ ,” he growled and Malcolm felt himself blacking out. Suddenly he was thrown to the ground. He coughed, gasping for breath as he watched the boots walk out of his field of vision. He shook his aching head. 

_I'm so screwed,_ he thought, watching the man continue sharpening his hacksaw. _So, So screwed._

~~~ 

VOODOO 

Malcolm gasped, shaking his sweaty hair out of his eyes. The air around him was thick with incense smoke and he choked on it, gagging. 

“Shhh,” the woman above him said sagely. “Just let me work my magic.” 

“Not magic,” he managed. The hand in his hair tightened and he winced. 

“Don't doubt me, child,” she said angrily. “I’ll heal you.” 

“‘M not sick,” he slurred. He wasn't, really, it was something that she had slipped into his drink. He had been a fool to accept the offered whiskey, but she wasn't supposed to be the killer. She was just supposed to be an expert on voodoo. Someone who could help him find the person who was committing the ritualistic murders. 

“You've got a darkness in you, hon,” she said with a head shake. He coughed, blood splattering on the ground in front of him. He could taste the metallic tang of the liquid covering his lips. “We’ll purge it.” 

“Poison,” he choked out along with more blood. She shook her head, a wicked smile curling her crimson lips. 

“No, not poison,” she hissed in his ear. “Voodoo.” 

~~~ 

INCONSPICUOUS 

Malcolm used to want to be inconspicuous. He had been recognized as the Surgeon’s son his whole life. He was bullied by his peers and even sometimes adults for who his father was, all because he couldn't blend in. He decided after a while that if he was going to be stared at, made fun of, prodded, teased, and bullied it may as well be because of the things that he did.

His whole childhood anonymity was what he craved; upon becoming an adult, he decided that being as conspicuous as possible meant that most people wouldn't want to look closer. If they thought that he was “off” for the reason he showed them they wouldn't think that there was anything else to it. 

“The dude is weird,” JT had said to Dani upon meeting him. “I don't trust him.” Despite what JT said, he didn't look into it any further. That was the goal. So Malcolm ranted. He stared, he asked invasive questions, he made bold assumptions, he unnerved people. He allowed the strange looks, the snide comments, the rude gestures to roll right off. Some people may call it reverse psychology. Malcolm called it survival. 

Someone who had something to hide wouldn't be so open, so willing to draw attention, would they? That was another thing that Malcolm shared with most serial killers; they were both conspicuously inconspicuous. 

~~~ 

FLOUNDER 

Malcolm wasn't sure when the suspect drugged him. He wasn't sure if it was in something he ate or if he was injected and he just didn't remember. It was entirely possible; he was very  _ very _ out of it. 

“Where’r we goin’” Malcolm slurred, dragging his feet. The killer grumbled something under his breath. 

“Don't worry about it,” he muttered. Malcolm didn't like that answer. You see, the thing is, he was absolutely worried about it. Malcolm blinked, looking around. He could smell the polluted scent of the Hudson River. His nose wrinkled. 

“Don't like this,” he said. The guy dragging him grumbled again. 

“Of course you don't,” he growled, “Why would you? God, you fuckin’ cops, always twisting my arm,” he ranted. “I wouldn't have to do shit like this if you would just stop looking into me. You think I like doin’ this?” 

“Not really,” Malcolm mumbled. Suddenly they were standing on a doc and Malcolm frowned. He gasped as he was pushed over the edge, tumbling into the freezing water. He floundered, bound hands not effective enough. He struggled, briefly wondered if this was the end. 

_That would suck_ his drugged mind supplied. There was a splash next to him and suddenly he was being hauled out of the water. 

“Jesus, man, just hold on,” he heard from above him as he puked water onto the ground next to him. He didn't recognize the voice. “Yeah, some guy just got pushed into the river,” was the last thing he heard before everything went black. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts:   
> I WON’T ASK AGAIN   
> RAGGED   
> NOSEBLEED

I WON’T ASK AGAIN 

Malcolm limped as fast as he could, leaning on the warehouse shelves to keep his balance. The baby in his arms squirmed and he held her tighter to his chest. He could hear the heavy thud of her uncle’s boots a few isles away, getting closer. 

“You know I'll find you!” Liam shouted and Malcolm flinched, causing the baby to stir. Malcolm quickly shushed her, bouncing her until she fell back asleep. His mind was racing; there had to be _somewhere_ he could hide her. “You're going to regret everything when I do!” 

Most of the shelves were empty, but Malcolm spotted an old box. He stumbled to it, pulling it off the shelf and hastily setting the sleeping child inside. He pulled her blanket further around her and gently put the box back. Now that his arms were free he leaned more heavily on the shelf. 

His ribs ached from the beating he had taken earlier, but he forced himself to move. If he stayed here he was sure that Liam would find his niece. He wasn't sure how far he got from the baby before Liam found him. Malcolm was in no shape to run from the man, but he tried to. Liam caught him by the back of his shirt and threw him to the ground. Malcolm wheezed. 

“Where is she?” he growled, leaning over Malcolm, who just shook his head. Liam kicked him. “Where?” 

“Won't tell you,” Malcolm managed. Suddenly Liam was on top of him and Malcolm braced himself. He expected the punch to the face, but that didn't make it hurt any less. His hands were around Malcolm’s throat and the profiler thrashed. 

“I won't ask again,” he hissed. Malcolm just glared as he continued to struggle. The pressure let up slightly. 

“Fuck off,” Malcolm gasped and the pressure returned. His vision was starting to go black when a piercing wail echoed through the warehouse. _No_. Liam grinned, releasing the profiler. 

“Looks like I don't need you,” he said, walking in the direction the cries were coming from. Malcolm could only watch those damn boots walk out of his blurry field of vision. 

_No._

~~~   
RAGGED 

Malcolm’s breathing was ragged and his eyes wanted to slip closed. His eyelids fluttered but he fought to keep them open. 

“Hey, man, stay with me, okay?” JT said, applying pressure to the wound in his side. Malcolm winced, eyes flying open as his mouth opened in a silent scream. “Just hang on.”

“J-JT,” Malcolm managed, glancing up at the older man. “Get out of here.” 

“What?” JT looked like Malcolm had just slapped him in the face. “No way, we just have to wait for help to come-” 

“It won't,” Malcolm wheezed, choking on the smoke around them. The bomber had been terrorizing the city for months. His targets were law enforcement, more specifically first responders. Malcolm could hear the ambulances just down the street, waiting. He knew that they had been ordered to stay away. It was the logical decision. Malcolm wished that it were not. 

“What- No, they will-” he argued, but Malcolm grabbed his arm. 

“JT.” he took a gasping breath. “They won't get any closer. They can't.” 

“Well then we’ll just have to bring you to them,” JT said resolutely. The tried to lift the smaller man but was stopped cold by his agonized shriek. He set him back down. 

“Can't move me,” Malcolm panted, head lolling to the side. “Too much blood.” 

“Well there's gotta be something we can do,” JT growled. Malcolm looked at him sadly. 

“Go, get help,” he mumbled. 

“If I don't keep pressure on this you'll die,” JT said, shaking his head. 

“I'll die if we don't get help,” Malcolm countered. 

“I won't leave a man behind.” 

“You have a family, JT,” Malcolm whispered. “Just...go. I'll be fine.” 

“No.” That was his final answer. Malcolm sighed. His eyes were getting too heavy to hold up. “I'm here,” was the last thing he heard before oblivion claimed him. 

~~~ 

NOSEBLEED 

Malcolm’s head flew back with a nauseating _crunch_ and he let himself stumble backward. He looked up, locking eyes with his opponent. He shut his eyes with a wince.

“Oh shit, are you okay?” Malcolm heard his sparring partner ask. He winced, pulling his hand away from his now bloody nose. 

“Um, yeah, I'm fine,” he muttered, wiping some of the blood away. More gushed out to replace what he had wiped away. He sighed. 

“I'm so sorry, it was an accident-” the larger man was saying as he grabbed a towel. He handed it to Malcolm, who chuckled and tried to stop the bleeding with it. 

“Really, it's fine,” Malcolm was saying when the training room door opened. He turned to see Gil scanning the room. His eyes landed on Malcolm and the younger man waved with the hand holding the towel. Gil took one look at the blood and his expression darkened.

“What happened?” he demanded and turned to the officer Malcolm had been sparring with. “What did you do?” he snapped. The officer cowered slightly at Gil’s wrath. 

“Nothing,” Malcolm interrupted the officer’s stuttering. “We were sparring and we got a little carried away. Seriously, it’s fine.” Gil contemplated for a moment before turning back to his officer. 

“You're dismissed,” he said. Malcolm watched as he practically ran from the room and frowned at Gil. 

“We really were just sparring,” he said. Gil grunted. 

“I don't like seeing you hurt, kid,” he grumbled, “Even if it was an accident.” 

Malcolm avoided sparring at the station from then on. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts:  
> BEG  
> YOU'RE PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY  
> RELOAD  
> JUST A SCRATCH 

BEG 

Malcolm’s head lolled, ears ringing despite the mostly quiet of the room. He wasn't quite sure where he was, or what was happening, but he did know that his head hurt. 

“Stop, don't!” Oh. Well, now he knew that Gil was here too. His wrists were tied above his head and he was facing a wall. He blinked slowly. How had he gotten here? 

“What are you going to do about it, Lieutenant?” he heard a vaguely familiar voice ask. _Endicott?_ There was the distinct crack of a whip and a trail of fire erupted across his bare back. When did he lose his shirt? He arced away from the source of pain, a breathless scream escaping his mouth. Endicott inhaled sharply at the sound. 

“Stay away from him!” Gil’s demand was met by another _crack_ and Malcolm’s voice broke mid-scream. He didn't have time to catch his breath before leather broke his skin again. He sobbed, pulling on his restraints. “Please, just tell me what you want!” 

“What I want?” Endicott asked. Malcolm could hear his expensive shoes thud on the floor as he circled him. Suddenly his head was wrenched back by hand in his hair. He whimpered quietly, trying to shake him off. He only tightened his grip and Malcolm stilled. “I want to hear you beg.” 

“What?” Gil asked, though he knew exactly what Endicott had said. Endicott traced one of the lacerations on Malcolm’s back and Malcolm bit back a sob. 

“You heard me.” He smiled. “If you want me to stop hurting the boy, beg.”

“Fine,” Gil said, swallowing his pride. He could grovel if it saved Malcolm the pain. He would do anything for that kid; he hated that Endicott knew that.

~~~ 

YOU'RE PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY 

“You know, the best part about this little cocktail is how _fast_ it works,” Malcolm heard from somewhere behind him. He winced as his head was forced to the side and a needle was shoved into the side of his neck. He gasped at the instantaneous reaction. 

Everything was on _fire_. His lungs, his skin, every cell in his body ached with the sensation and Malcolm screamed through gritted teeth. He didn't think that it could get worse. It did. 

“Please!” He gasped, shaking his head. He could feel tears forming in his eyes as he thrashed against the strapped holding him to the table. The sensation intensified, it was too much, _too much_. 

“Shhh,” he heard and someone was touching his arm. God, it hurt _so_ _bad_. He couldn't move away. He couldn't do anything but try to breathe. Hands that must have been on fire swiped at his cheeks, wiping away the salty tears. He hadn't realized that he had begun to cry. Now that he noticed, forceful sobs wracked his body. Every breath shook him. “You're so pretty when you cry.” 

“I-I-I can't,” Malcolm managed between sobs. “P-please.” 

“Oh, you can,” the man next to him said absently. Malcolm sobbed again as another wave of pain made his vision go white. _Where is my team?_ He thought desperately. They had to come. They _had_ to. 

"Now," Malcolm heard as his vision began to blur, "How about round two?" 

~~~ 

RELOAD

Malcolm panted from where he was crouched, carefully removing his firearm from his side holster. The operation had gone sideways and he was so glad that the higher-ups had let him keep his gun despite the circumstances. He could hear the suspect walking around the warehouse. Searching for him. 

“C’mon, kid!” Malcolm heard. He held his breath, holding his firearm at the ready. “They sent you out here to be slaughtered!” He bit back any sort of response at the jab. He heard something being kicked over, close enough that Malcolm might be able to get a shot. A series of gunshots echoed in the open space, coming a little too close to his hiding place for comfort. He peered over the boxes and took a shot at the suspect. 

The firefight went on for several minutes and Malcolm’s ears were ringing by the time he was out of ammo. His eyes widened and he fumbled for his backup clip. _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit_ , he thought. He dropped his empty clip and froze at the sound of a gun cocking from behind him. He looked up at the suspect, who was smiling at him. 

“Not so quick on the reload, are we?” he said smugly. Malcolm slowly put down his empty gun. 

“I guess not,” Malcolm conceded. The suspect chuckled. 

“I like you, kid,” he said. Malcolm tilted his head. 

“I can't say that I feel the same,” he muttered. Pain exploded in his head as the suspect brought the butt of his gun down on his skull. Malcolm hit the ground, only mildly conscious. He groaned as someone grabbed his feet and started to drag him. 

“Let's see how much your bosses really care about some field agent.” Malcolm didn't want really want to find out the answer to that one. He figured that he wouldn't be given much of a choice. 

~~~ 

JUST A SCRATCH 

“Malcolm, open your eyes, I need you to look at me,” Malcolm heard. He cracked his eyes open, staring blankly at Gil’s terrified face. Refielfe swept over his pinched expression. “Hey, kid.” 

“Hey,” Malcolm said, eyes starting to slip closed again. Gil slapped him gently. 

“Nope, none of that,” he chided. Malcolm huffed. 

“‘T's just a scratch,” he slurred, letting his head loll to the side. Gil sputtered. 

“It is not!” he said, staring at Malcolm’s blood-soaked shirt. Malcolm tried to shrug, wincing as it jostled his “scratch”. Gil put more pressure on the wound. 

“‘M fine,” he insisted, trying to move. Gil could hear the sirens getting closer and pushed Malcolm back down. 

“You are such a dumbass,” Gil muttered. Malcolm frowned. 

“I know, but still,” he said sullenly. Gil couldn't help but laugh. Of course Malcolm would know he was a dumbass. How could he not? He was an idiot, but he wasn't stupid. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts:   
> LIABILITY   
> EXILE   
> STAY DOWN   
> MY KID IS IN THERE

LIABILITY 

“Look, we can use him,” Malcolm heard from somewhere to his left. “He’s leverage.” 

“He’s a liability, dumbass,” another man hissed at the one who had spoken previously. 

“We can trade him-” 

“For what? What do you think the police are going to do, huh?” 

“You have no idea who he is, do you?” 

“Some kid you found on the street,” he scoffed.

“That’s  _ Martin Whitly _ .” there was a long pause. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” 

Malcolm’s eyes flew open as someone kicked him in the ribs. He wheezed, glaring up at the two men in front of him. 

“Name?” The one on the right demanded. 

“Malcolm Bright,” Malcolm replied shortly. The guy frowned. 

“Don't lie to me,” he growled. 

“I'm not-” his response was cut short by a boot to the face. His lip split and he felt blood welling up in his mouth. He spat blood on the concrete next to the guy’s feet. 

“I said-” he knelt next to Malcolm. “Don't lie to me.” 

~~~ 

EXILE 

“What are you doing here, Malcolm?” Ainsley asked, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. Malcolm rocked on his heels. 

“Well, I thought I would come by and see if you wanted to go out. Maybe dinner?” he said with a grin. She was unimpressed. 

“It’s one in the morning.” 

“Oh,” Malcolm said, chuckling. “I didn't realize.” 

“Have you been exiled from the precinct?” At Malcolm’s guilty look she sighed, “What did you do this time?” 

“Nothing!” he protested. She raised an eyebrow. “Alright, I tackled a suspect without the proper gear.” 

“You are so fucking stupid,” she muttered, but opened the door wider to let him in. “How about a movie?” 

“That’d be great, Ains,” Malcolm said, “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” she said with a snort, “What are sisters for?” 

~~~ 

STAY DOWN 

Malcolm grunted quietly as the gravel beneath his knees dug into his skin through the fabric of his pants. He pulled against the zip tie encircling his wrists, but stilled when the muzzle of the gun pressed harder into the back of his neck. His captor’s hand was a heavy weight on his shoulder. 

“How do we know he’s going to show up?” one of his captors growled to the other. 

“He will,” the other sounded very sure when he answered. Malcolm shifted slightly, trying in vain to find a more comfortable position. 

“Stop moving,” the one holding him down demanded. Malcolm did. He had no idea who they had coming for him, but he had a bad feeling about it. He blinked the blood that was dripping down his face out of his eye. A car that Malcolm didn't recognize pulled into the abandoned lot, headlights temporarily blinding him. He squinted. 

“Finally,” the one not holding him muttered. Malcolm’s eyes adjusted just in time to see Gil stepping out of the car. 

His shout of “Gil!” was muffled by the gag in his mouth and he tried to stand. He struggled for a moment before he was shoved back to his knees. 

“Stay down!” The grip on his shoulder tightened, fingers digging into his skin. He winced. “Arroyo, you stay where you are!” Gil was staring at Malcolm, trying to determine if he was alright. 

“Now listen up, Arroyo. This is how things are gonna go.” Malcolm shook his head and the but of the gun came down on the side of his head. He blinked, dazed. 

“Okay, okay,” he heard Gil say placatingly. “I'll do it. Just don't hurt him.” 

~~~ 

MY KID IS IN THERE 

Malcolm intercepted the woman, having to physically restrain her from running into the burning building. 

“You have to wait for the fire department!” Malcolm yelled as she struggled. 

“My kid is in there!” She screamed, tears streaming down her face. Malcolm felt his stomach drop. 

“I'll get her,” he said. She stared at him blankly. “Where is she?” 

“S-second floor,” she managed, “She was in her room, first door on the right.” He was sprinting into the house before she had even finished her sentence. The front door opened easily and he got a face full of smoke, ducking to escape the noxious gas. He pulled off his blazer, pressing the fabric to his face. The heat was pressing against him on all sides, but he pushed forward. He knew that the fire wasn't even on the first floor. 

He made his way up the stairs, trying to avoid fiery debris that fell from the ceiling above him. He hissed, brushing it off of his shoulders. He saw the bedroom she must have been talking about. He touched the handle gingerly, finding it hot to the touch. He reluctantly stepped back. He hadn't done this since his FBI days, but… 

He kicked the door once, and then a second time when the wood only splintered the first time. It went flying open, hitting the wall. He stepped into the room, spotting the girl. She was crouched in the corner, as far from the fire as she could get. She was screaming, but he couldn't hear it over the roar of the flame. He sprinted, grabbing her from where she knelt. She went limp in his arms and he covered her mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. The trip back seemed to take twice as long as the one there. 

It felt like both an eternity and a split second before the front door flew open and he was stumbling out onto the grass. He collapsed to his knees, setting the girl down. His ears were ringing and he couldn't hear anything but the sirens. His vision went dark. 

_ “MALCOLM!”  _


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts:   
> DRAG   
> DON'T TOUCH ME   
> LISTLESS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second fic contains spoilers for 1*20 if y'all haven't watched it yet.

DRAG 

Malcolm could hear gunfire in the distance. He could feel someone dragging him across the gravel. It dug into his skin despite his clothes. His head lolled to the side, trying to understand what was happening. Everything was blurry. 

_“Bright!”_ he heard someone yell in the distance. _JT?_ Whoever was dragging him gripped his kevlar vest tighter and picked up the pace. He made a distressed noise at the back of his throat. There was the chirp of a car unlocking and he was dropped, head smacking against the ground. 

“J’?” he slurred. His head _hurt_. Someone grabbed his arm, started to move his aching body again, and- 

“NYPD, put him down!” It was JT. Right? He was pulled closer to whoever was holding him, something sharp was pressed below his jaw. 

“Come any closer and I kill him.” He could feel their hot breath on his neck. The knife dug in, warm blood trailed down his neck. There was shouting, and gunshots, and Malcolm was dropped again. Everything went dark when he hit the ground again.

~~~ 

DON'T TOUCH ME 

Malcolm dropped the phone in his hand, his father’s words ringing in his ears. 

_ “My girl.” _

He stared at his blood-soaked sister, unable to move, unable to do anything. She, in turn, was staring at the bloody corpse at her feet. The man who threatened to destroy their family.  _ The man she had killed. _

“A-Ains-” he stuttered. He was shaking, not just his hand. Her terrified eyes snapped up to meet his. He was struck by just how young she looked. It was the same look she gave him after waking him from a particularly bad nightmare when they were kids. Only this wasn't a nightmare. This was real. “It-It’ll be alright, okay? It’s gonna be okay.” He reached for her and she flinched back hard. He froze. She stared at her trembling hands. Red, red,  _ red. _

“No.” she shook her head and stumbled back. “No, don't touch me.” tears ran down her face, leaving visible trails in the crimson. “D-don't touch me.” 

~~~

LISTLESS 

Malcolm stared up at her listlessly, eyes glossy. They fluttered closed and she slapped his face lightly. 

“Hey, hey, don't fall asleep,” she whispered. He blinked his eyes open and she offered a watery smile. “Good, that’s good.” He grunted, hand moving to the gunshot wound that was pouring blood. 

“D’ni?” he slurred, confusion momentarily clouding his face. That was bad. He was losing too much blood. She could hear the sirens wailing in the distance. Not close enough. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” she reassured, pressing her hand down harder on the wound. He whimpered, shaking his head. 

“Hurts,” he sobbed. She nodded, blinking away the tears that brimmed. 

“I know,” she whispered. “It’s okay. You're okay.” 


End file.
